Of Ashes and Petals
by Tales from the Lee
Summary: Beacon Academy has a long history, the order of Huntsmen even longer. This is the story of those who came before, those who may fall, and whose blood is red like roses.


AN: So, here's a little entry for my viewers in the RWBY fandom, and something of a speculative prequel to the series itself. I discussed these ideas ad nauseum with a colleague of mine and have a relatively good conclusion as to the validity of this as an idea. Whether I'm thinking along the lines of the staff at RT is to be seen. Regardless, this is purely a fictitious work on a fictitious work, and therefore should only be taken as such. In that vein, I must state however that the past doesn't always reflect the future, but the future will always carry shadows of the past. A leading to B, not B leading back to A. I've actually had this story in the backlog for a while now and figured I may as well get it started, after all, I got the mods to add Cinder and Summer to the character list for it, may as well put their work to use.

This is simply the introduction chapter, not the fully finished work.

A special thanks to Cronata for the discussion and alpha-read. I'd recommend any fans of RWBY to take a look at her artwork.

Legal Notice: Under the US Copyright Act, Fair-Use clause, this entry is protected from copyright infringement based upon its non-profit status, and purely creative purpose. I as the writer make no benefit from the production of this story and seek only to provide creative experiences to the fanbase.

RWBY, its characters, setting, and all aspects associated with it are the intellectual property of Monty Oum and RoosterTeeth Productions.

Ashes, Petals, and Tears, Scattered to the Winds.

"Nascence"

The life for a huntsman, is ever dominated by the needs of the many. It is in this regard that the title of huntsman or huntress is often given far more weight than any other career path. It is a title that indicates various qualities of the recipient. The ideals of duty to life, sacrifice, and for many the honor of that role, these traits are carried by the hunstman, and those who refuse to maintain those traits, often don't spend very much time in training, let alone as an active member of that group. It is for this reason that naming a person huntsman carries far more weight than naming them governor.

While kingdoms rise and fall, armies are recruited and led, but the Huntsmen are not bound to whims or political aims of the region. They maintain their own order, their own rules, and their own forces separated from the governing bodies of the region. The organization could be easily described as a loose para-military brotherhood. A group united to maintain a common goal of protecting humanity from the dangers of Grimm, and while they operate on similar aims as the local constabulary and soldiery of the various kingdoms and principalities, they are ultimately outside the chain-of-command for those groups, though they typically maintain the local customs and laws as well.

This is kept in check by the seriousness of their duty, a commitment to combating the ever present dangers of Grimm, a calling that supersedes all others, be it family, faith, or kingdom. Sadly, it is also true that the lives of many Huntsmen end in tragedy, death in battle and heroic sacrifices being a recurring end to many of the order.

To be a Huntress or Huntsman, is to put duty before everything else.

* * *

Vytal, Kingdom of Vale, City of Vale, Beacon Cliffs, "The First Steps."

Tradition often existed to appease the pattern forming part of the mind, to find safety and security in what had always been. It made the initiation process simple. Those too weak to stand were quickly weeded out, leaving only those able to stand on their own strengths and convictions . The successful candidates would prove they would stand for duty, and could make the necessary sacrifices.

She could see a few promising candidates. Military cadets, warrior-scholars, and the like. The academics of Signal academy and the rigid military discipline of the Sanctum academy was clearly evident in a few candidates. They were hard to miss. The Mistral group hailing from Sanctum all looked nearly identical in their implements, primarily preferring defensive fighting styles, often focusing around well armored, shielded infantrymen of a consistent caliber rather than the eclectic offense capable in the Signal group. This was a fitting decision, given the Mistral region's rocky coastline and tight spacings. A few well armored men could easily hold off against a much larger force if properly equipped, as had been done in the past during the larger Grimm incursions.

The Signal group served as a foil to the Sanctum initiates hailing from Mistral. These Vale born students showed greater variety in their armaments. On one side she could see men wearing heavy plate armor with axes and maces, while another group from the same region would carry nothing more than a fencing foil, or a broadsword. What they lacked in uniformity, they made up for in versatility. One could easily cleave an Ursa in two, while another could crush it like an insect. No two warriors were the same amongst them, and this perhaps was as much a benefit as a detriment.

She could recognize some notable faces amongst the mass of mundane silhouettes of anonymity. The likes of which she could hardly be bothered to glean any recognition from. One man, moderate height, broad kite shaped shield clashing with the rounded Mistral design immediately nearest him. Blonde hair, almost a corn-silk yellow, clashing with his eggshell complexion. Anyone with a casual memory for heroic figures could spot the youngest Arc, no doubt following in the footsteps of his legendary forebears.

Amongst this mass however, there were some that spoke of much greater variety than even a Vale academy could speak of. Village wardens, mercenaries looking for committed and honest work, many types attempted the initiation, though many types also failed. Still, the mass of applicants were all young hopefuls looking to ply their trade in the order of Huntsmen. Simply being allowed to attempt the initiation was enough of a testament to the quality of these hopefuls, and should they fail, the order was better off for it.

* * *

It was a cool day, clouds hanging in the sky, and the dull rumbles of distant thunder forecasting the likelihood of a great storm to come. Still, she was particularly happy in her choice of raiment. Her favorite dress clinging to her form, hiding her modesty while also giving a tempting glance at the curves of her figure, her dark hair drifting in waves around her shoulders, a controlled sea of raven black, concealing her crest just beneath their waves, the mark barely hidden on her back. Her pose was one of confidence, hands on her hip, patiently awaiting the coming test. Silent, until interrupted by the drifting voice nearest her.

"Do you think brother will come see us?"

The words floated up from behind her left shoulder, forcing her to draw her eyes away from the variety of hopefuls and focus them on the waif of a young woman to her immediate side, a look of anticipation on her face.

She wore a long white cloak, effectively hiding the entirety of her form, her hood hiding the platinum blonde locks that hid in the shadows of her cowl. She could barely make out the telltale seams and stitches of the girls favorite corset tied tight underneath the recesses of her cloak, her personal crest stitched into the bindings, dark fibers clashing with the bright clothing.

It was impossible to hide the quizzical expression from her face as she looked upon her sibling. "What are you doing?" Attempting to stifle the urge to laugh at the ridiculous stance and expression on her half-sibling's face.

"I have to look cool! Why not try the dark loner look?" The youthful giggles coming from inside the hood clearly showing the wearer found her own antics quite silly.

"You may want to wear something less bright if you're going for the "dark and brooding" image." The answer was monotone, nonchalant as if regarding the value of a Tuesday.

"Hey! I have to try! Not easy when you've got to compete with the bad ass in the red dress with tattoos!"

"I think you're over thinking things a bit. Just wait until someone sees what we can do, after that, well I should think teaming up would be quite simple, that is if we don't wreck everything."

"We won't destroy anything!" The hooded voice taking on the tone of a child attempting to defend the indefensible.

"You do remember what happened at dad's wedding, right?" The other responded, her deadpan statement all the more noticeable as her eyebrow quirked up at her sibling.

"You are just as much to blame for that as I am, Cindy! It's not my fault you're a light-weight!" The white-cloaked answered, hands on her hips, exposing more of her form from beneath the shade of her favorite clothes.

"I would argue that is is far easier for you to cause trouble with sugar, than I with champagne." The tattooed of the duo answered, mirroring her sibling's posture, though her attire did somewhat limit her ability to copy her sister's stance, if only to preserve modesty as she leaned forward to lock eyes. "And really, my name is actually Cinder, as you know quite well, I'd prefer if you used my real name and not trick everyone into calling me a nickname I rather dislike."

The statement was off hand, and while hints of it were true, the majority was purely sarcastic, a tool which they were both experienced with.

"Whatever you say, _Cindy_." The paler of the duo shot back, an evil grin punctuating the statement.

"You have every intention to continue calling me that, don't you?"

"Maybe, I haven't quite decided yet. It won't really matter until after the test though, will it?" She answered, interweaving her fingers as she leaned back to glance at the cloudy sky above. "Looks like rain, you know."

"I'll be fine. We're ready for this."

"I hope you're right.

"When am I not?" She answered back, giving her sister a reassuring smirk. Nobody could say she wasn't confident.

As they finished speaking, all the gathered masses turned to see a scarred older man step to the forefront of the prospective Huntsmen and Huntresses, his posture indicating that he would not be requesting their attention. They would listen, or they'd fail. It wasn't really his responsibility either way.

He stood clothed in an old military uniform, looking to be tattered and sewn as if it had seen decades of active use. The colors and edges stood out as frayed and weather worn into a muddied Grey tone. An eye patch covered much of the left side of his face, though small bits of likely scorched flesh could be seen around the edges.

His arms were crossed at his chest, his face adorned with a demanding grimace.

"I won't say this again so you had better listen well. You are here to train and learn, but we will not coddle you. If you learn anything during your Trial, you'd better learn to do what needs doing, no matter the cost."

He had the voice of a grating boulder, rumbling down the cliff side and he seemed quite displeased with the quality of his students.

At the silence of the gathered mass, he continued. "Good to see we all understand each other. Now, there is a shrine in the deepest section of this forest. You are all to make your way there and retrieve a relic from the altars, and make your way back here. Grimm targets are not a priority, though you are not restricted from engaging if need be. However that is independent from your goals. You will also be required to pair up with another candidate during your mission. This person will be your only verified ally during the mission, and therefore you had best learn to work together. Further placements will be discussed pending your completion of the initiation. Understood?"

The silence that followed either indicated that no questions were needed, or that they recognized it as a rhetorical question.

"Good, now, let's begin."

* * *

The launch came as a shock to some, after all, the notion that they were all expected to catapult themselves across the cliff side and into the forest seemed ridiculous. Or at the least it very well should to the average individual.

"Don't let fear stop you." She whispered to herself, repeating her father's words as she neared the peak of her flight.

The feeling of free weightlessness was replaced with a tense one as she felt the pull of the ground beneath her take hold, dragging her down to the forest below. The trees seemed to rush forward to greet her, foliage welcoming her into their embrace. The branches snapping at her passing, leaves falling in her wake.

She could see her path, a linear one towards the ground...were it not for the tree trunk impeding her descent.

It grew closer by the second, making time itself feel as if it slowed to a crawl, her limbs forcing themselves into action for self-preservation.

A flick of the wrist set things alight as the ring on her finger was activated, the fire of her namesake came to the forefront, burning her aura as fuel and dancing in her palms as a result, her sleeves igniting as she allowed more of her preservative essence to join her immolation as she neared the great tree. On her movement she pushed her aura out, letting the semblance burn farther away and along the plant's body, rapidly crackling into the fibers beneath the bark, just mere centimeters ahead of her touch.

She had to exert greater force, and thereby greater strain on her body to keep the flames moving forward, and begin to core a hole through the trunk rapidly, leaving a trail of ash in the conflagration's wake, falling like a meteor speeding towards the surface, burning a path in its wake.

As she passed into the tree, she was forced to squint to avoid getting the smoldering material in her eyes, ashes crumbling onto her raven hair as she went through her created path, through the gap created by the furious blaze, letting her fall through on the opposite side of the tree, her body wreathed in flame as she disabled her ring and stopped trying to channel her semblance. A feeling of relief washed over her, her own immolation having ceased, the feeling of bitter cold replaced one of passive warmth as her extremities re-acclimated to the feeling of _not_ being wreathed in fire. It soon passed however, leaving her skin feeling only slightly heated to the touch, as if she'd laid out in the sun for some time, not as if she'd chosen to ignite herself.

As she righted herself, she turned to glance at her handiwork, spying the moderately sized and still smoldering hole through the great tree's core, she couldn't help but let out a hearty shout that simply couldn't go unnoticed by any other students...or the beasts they were training to hunt.


End file.
